Welcome to the world of Jenniffer Wardell, author of “Beast Charming," "Fairy Godmothers, Inc," "Fighting Sleep" and more. It's a place where fantasy runs smack into reality (after which they both exchange business cards and hope no one calls the insurance company). Perfect for fans of Terry Pratchett and Mercedes Lackey's "500 Kingdoms" series.

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Thursday, March 15, 2018

"Fighting Sleep" is now available for purchase! I'm really, really proud of the revisions and the new feel of the book (which was once known as "Dreamless"), and I'm super excited for everyone to get a chance to read it.

Synopsis:

It'll take more than true love's kiss to break this curse.

After years of trying to find a cure, Princess Elena feels like she's made her peace with the century-long nap in her future. But when the curse threatens to come early and a rogue prince wants to hurry it along even faster, circumstances force her to reunite with a frustrating figure from her childhood who has some secrets of his own. Can the two overcome their differences and work together to defeat the curse, stop the prince, and find their own happily-ever-after?

(This is a new, heavily revised edition of the now no longer in print "Dreamless." If you enjoy the book, please leave a review at the listing of your choice.)

Sunday, March 4, 2018

So I've been kind of M.I.A for awhile because I've been deep in the "Dreamless" rewrite (which will be called "Fighting Sleep" now), but I'm only a few chapters away from the end. I'm really, really excited by this new version (I think I'm writing it so fast because it's the only way I'll actually get to read the thing), so even though I'm not done yet here's the new first chapter:

Chapter 1: Avoiding the Problem

Experimentation always had its
risks. Sometimes, that meant impressive-looking explosions. Other times, that
meant tripping and falling because a spell refused to behave properly.

Elena hit the ground with a
distinctly undignified thunk, praying that the Healer's Academy muffled sound
even half as well as the castle did. Then she pushed herself up into a sitting
position, ignoring the new round of bruises as she pulled the misbehaving
leather cuff of her ankle. Banishing the shimmer of magic around it, she
scowled at the sigils carefully stitched onto the surface.“You’re not supposed to be flying right now,” she muttered,
mentally calculating how much smaller the sigils would have to be in order to
make sure the cuff would have some
lift but not enough to actually go anywhere. She wanted it to take the weight
of Alan’s broken leg, not try to take to the sky every time he—

She jerked her head up at hurried
footsteps in the hallway, and she quickly shoved the cuff into her pocket as
the door swung open to reveal a round-faced woman in healer’s scrubs clearly
ready to shout at someone. “What’s going on in—“ The woman stopped abruptly as
she focused on Elena, her long blond hair half-fallen out of the knot at her
back and her eminently practical skirt sprawled out around her. A beat later,
her eyes widened. “Your Highness?”

Great. There was no truly dignified
way to scramble upright, so Elena simply tried to get to her feet as fast as
she could. “Forgive me, matron.” She gave the woman her most polite smile, hoping
that would be enough to keep the woman from asking any questions. People tended
to accept a polite expression and pleasant tone at face value, ignoring
inconvenient complications like why a nearly 18-year-old princess had been
sprawled out on their floor. “I’m afraid I was testing something for my
bodyguard, Alan Merrick. Do you know if he’s finished his appointment, yet?”

Elena sighed, undoing the knot at
the back of her neck and re-doing it properly. Best guess, the woman would run
to her nearest supervisor and inform them that the poor tragic princess was officially
in the building. At that point, she’d be lucky if she made it out of the
building without a collection of hand pats, sympathetic looks, and people saying
how sorry they were and complimenting her for “how strong” she was. If she had
to run that particular gauntlet, she’d be lucky if she made it out of the
building without not-so-accidentally turning someone into a frog.

As her mother had expressly
forbidden her from doing that, Elena was certain it wouldn’t go over well.

The only option, then, was to make
her escape early and find Alan herself. Invisibility spells were impractical in
a building this crowded – people tended to notice bumping into an empty space more than they would a person – but that
didn't mean magic was completely useless. A smaller spell, designed to make
people simply not notice her, would let her slip through the hallways like she
belonged here.

She drew the correct sigil in the
air, the shape so familiar she no longer had to think about it, and murmured
the corresponding trigger phrase under her breath. As she finished, she felt
the magical energy flow out of her body and through the channel of her hand,
settling back against her skin with a faint tingling sensation. She couldn't
see the energy without an imaging spell, but most of the time you don't need
to.

Once she was sure the spell was
complete, Elena slipped out into the hallway and headed toward the examination
room where she knew Alan's appointment had been. Healers passed by her without
a second glance, hurrying back and forth between rooms filled with patients.
Healing wasn't as easy as the stories made it sound, even something as simple
as a gash requiring a delicate stitching of muscle and skin. Even that took
time, and something as complicated as a lingering illness could stretch into an
ongoing battle.

One that, sometimes, even the best
healers lost.

Shaking off the memory – there had
been more than one reason why she hadn't followed Alan into his appointment –
Elena stopped just outside the correct examination room. Then, carefully, she
silently pushed the door open a crack.

"...fused some of the finer
fragments of bone back together, Mr. Merrick, but I'm afraid that's the extent
of what we'll be able to do for you here." The healer's tone was
matter-of-fact. "Your natural resistance to magic makes it difficult to do
any healing on you at all, and I'm afraid if we try anything larger than that
we'll misjudge our force and make things worse in there. If we start
reattaching a chunk of bone to its neighbor when it's in the wrong place, it
could permanently damage your ability to walk."

Elena's fingers curled into a fist,
raining silent curses down on Nigel's head. The fact that he was sitting in
prison at the moment didn't feel like nearly
enough punishment for dropping an entire wall on her guard. The fact that it
had happened because Alan was protecting her
from being crushed only made her angrier at the little weasel.

Inside the examination room, Alan
sighed. "I was afraid of that." She heard him shift his leg, the huge
cast around it making a heavy sound she didn't like. "If we leave it
alone, though, I'll heal, right? I'll be back to full mobility?"

The healer hesitated long enough
that Elena held her breath. When she did finally speak, there was a warning in
her voice. "I'll say probably, but only if you have the good sense to keep
off it while it heels. Nothing more
strenuous than walking, preferably with a cane we'll give you. Which means, let
me state officially, means you can no longer chase around after that princess
of yours."

Elena winced at that. If Alan was
going to be off his feet for awhile, there was no chance of her mother letting
her out of the castle without an entire retinue
of guards. She might as well carry a sign above her head at that point, or maybe
carry around a horn and formally announce her name to the crowd every 20 or 30
feet.

Elena wondered how many times you
could hear “I’m sorry” before your head actually exploded.

Suddenly wanting to be anywhere
else, she pushed open the door. The healer didn’t turn her head, still under
the effects of the spell, but Alan immediately turned toward the doorway. The
“don’t notice me” spell didn’t work on him, both because of his resistance to
magic and his general fondness for her, and the moment his eyes focused on her
she could feel the spell pop like a soap bubble. Once it did, the healer turned
as well. “Your Highness,” she said, eyes widening for only a moment before she
recovered her matter-of-fact tone. “Would you like me to—”

The healer nodded. “Of course.”
Elena stepped further into the room to get out of her way, but as the woman
walked past her she hesitated. “Your Highness, let me say once again that we in
the Healer’s Academy are so sorry that we couldn’t do more for you after your
aunt—”

Mercy, this sounded like the
beginning of a speech. “Thank you,”
Elena cut her off, hand tightening in her skirt briefly before she forced
herself to let go. She could already feel the headache starting to form, but
healing was unfortunately the one area of sorcery where she had no talent
whatsoever. “We would appreciate it greatly if you could bring that cane you
mentioned.”

When she left, Elena shut the door
behind her and turned back to Alan. “I’m killing Nigel,” she announced, letting
herself picture it for a second. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t actually do
it – murder was illegal, even for royalty – but it was so incredibly soothing to think about. “I’ll make it look like
self-defense if I have to. But next time I see him, he’s dead.”

Elena sighed, imagining the
reaction the magic mirror-turned-therapist would have to that particular
announcement. “Somehow, I don’t think that was what he meant.”

#

Once they’d finally escaped the
Healer’s Academy, Elena argued for getting a carriage back to the castle. Alan,
however, stubbornly insisted on walking. “The healer said it was okay,” he
argued, suddenly remembering to put actual weight on the cane instead of just
carrying it. “I need to know if I can handle the distance.”

She narrowed her eyes at him,
hurrying to catch up. “I knew you
gave in too easily to taking the carriage here.”

He tilted his head in
acknowledgement. “I knew the way back would be when I needed the thinking
time.” Then he sighed, his entire tone suddenly turning serious. “We need to
talk about what we’re going to do until my leg heals.”

Elena’s stomach twisted at the
reminder. “Any chance you could convince my mother that there’s another guard
in the castle somewhere who’s good enough to be trusted on his own?”

Alan scowled, just like she’d known
he would. “You know how I feel about lying.”

Elena sighed. “You know, I’m sure
they’ve hired several new people
since that incident with the cake. There’s got to be someone there who can meet
your exacting standards.”

Alan raised an eyebrow at her,
letting himself slow down a fraction so she could get the full effect. “Who,
conveniently, wouldn’t be immune to your ‘don’t notice me spell’ the same way I
am, right?”

Elena blinked, appalled that she
hadn’t had the good sense to come up with that idea before he’d shot it down.
“I would never,” she said with mock
outrage, cheered by the thought that she would probably be able to use it on whatever
guards her mother stuck her with. She didn’t spend enough time with most of
them to develop the sort of affection that would invalidate the spell.

Besides, it had given her another
idea as well. “It’s not as if whoever it was would have to do much, anyway.”
She made sure to keep pace with Alan, careful to keep her voice as even a
possible. If she played too innocent, he’d know she was faking it. “I’ll
probably spend most of the time you’re recuperating just hiding out in the
castle.” At his skeptical look, she shrugged. “What? I’d rather hide out in my
room a couple of months than drag half the palace guards around the city.
Someone can bring Dr. Flyte’s mirror in for my appointments, and if I need
something for one of my spells I can ask the kitchen staff to add it to their
weekly order.”

“And that means no one will be
keeping an eye on you when you’re sneaking out at—” He stopped, eyes going
distant for a moment, then blinked and refocused on her. “We’re being
followed.”

Elena stopped as well, scanning the
immediate area out of the corner of her eye. There were too many people around
for a life-scanning spell to be of any use, and tracking spells only worked if
you knew who you were tracking. “Wouldn’t an assassin wait for more privacy?”
she said quietly.

He caught her gaze when it moved
past his, and the seriousness in his eyes made her go still with wariness.
“Maybe.” He adjusted his grip on the cane so that he held it more like a sword.
“But I’m not about to trust either of our lives on it.”

With the smallest tilt of his head,
he gestured back to the alley they had just passed. They moved toward it with a
deliberate casualness that only the person following them would even notice,
then ducked inside. Alan went first, making sure whoever was following them
hadn’t chosen it as their own hideout, and at his nod Elena slipped in behind
him. Behind her back, she sketched a sigil for a paralysis spell in the air. It
wasn’t quite strong enough for combat, but if she could catch their pursuer by
surprise it should keep Alan from having to do much fighting. She just needed
to know who she was aiming at….

A moment later, Alan answered that
question for her. With no signal she could see or hear, he suddenly pivoted
around on his good leg and slammed what seemed to be absolutely nothing against
the wall. His arm stopped about six inches away from the bricks, clearly
resting on something solid despite the distance, and Elena shifted tactics and sketched
the correct sigil to counter an invisibility spell. One quick yanking motion
later, an embarrassed-looking young man wearing far too much silk was standing
in front of them. “Well.” He cleared his throat, then tried an overly bright
smile. “How … how lovely to see you both. Have you been having a pleasant
afternoon?”

It took an amazing amount of
self-control not to strangle Nigel where he stood. “How in the world are you not in prison?”

Nigel perked up at that. “It turns
out one of the guards was quite
admiring of one of my rings, and when I explained the misunderstanding to—”

Alan cursed. “Now that I have some
free time,” he muttered, “clearly I need to make sure some prison guards get
fired.”

“Or prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law,” Elena snapped,
fingers clenching. “You tried to kill me, Nigel, and succeeded in seriously
injuring my guard. That is a crime.”

Nigel’s cheeks reddened. “I told
you, that was just a terribly unfortunate accident!”

Alan’s only response to that bit of
idiocy was a rude noise. He kept Nigel pinned against the wall with the cane,
using his free hand to check for any weapons. When he did find something, his
brow lowered in clear puzzlement as he felt around it. When he pulled out an
old spindle, he held it up. “Has this been enchanted?”

She sketched a sigil in the air,
then waved her hand over the spindle. When therewas no corresponding glow, she
felt just as confused as Alan looked. “No, which makes no sense. What use
would—” Then memory hit, and she whipped her hand around to glare at Nigel.
“You know that was a rumor, right? Started hundreds of years ago by a sorcerer
whose ex-wife specialized in making spinning wheels.”

Nigel’s eyes went ride. “A rumor?”

Furious, she grabbed the spindle
out of Alan’s hand and held it close to Nigel’s face. “They’re far more capable of damaging, say,
someone’s eye than setting off a sorceress’s curse.”

“I just … it seemed so much more civilized.”
Nigel swallowed, his cheeks starting to get red. “The man at the junk shop was
more than happy to sell me a spindle, and I thought—”

“No. You didn’t think.” Alan’s voice was hard
as he yanked Nigel away from the wall, giving the prince his best “Commander”
glare before gesturing to two of the city guards who’d just come around the
corner. “And now you’re going back to prison until we can figure out something
worse to do with you.”

Now Nigel looked horrified and embarrassed. “I didn’t … I never
meant to harm Princess Elena! I just … I wanted ….”

“To start my curse early, so you
could be the one to break it,” Elena finished for him, the words flat to hide
the bitterness behind them. “Kiss the poor cursed princess and everyone will be
thrilled enough to forget what made her lose consciousness in the first place.”
She paused as his face turned an even brighter shade. “Of course, it never
occurred to you what would happen if your kiss didn’t work, did it? You wouldn’t
be the hero. You’d be nothing more than the villain who trapped the princess in
a century of sleep months before she had to be, just because you’d decided to
be clever.” A quick spell was enough to make the spindle transport away as he
watched. “Unless, of course, I decided to take care of you first.”

Nigel couldn’t say a word, just
staring at her like his voice had been stolen. Looking disgusted now, Alan
shoved the prince into the arms of the city guards. Once they was safely gone,
Elena pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and reminded herself to
breathe. “I should have killed him,” she said quietly. “Or maybe I can have
Braeth do it. We could say it was an early death-day present for him.”

“He’s not worth it,” Alan smoothed
a gentle hand against her hair, then sighed. “Besides, I need to get you home. We
need to make sure Nigel doesn’t wander off again.”

“I almost wonder if we should tell
mother about it.” Elena was surprised to find herself smiling a little. “She
hasn’t really let herself get angry at someone in a long time. It might be
almost relaxing for her to just let all of her frustration out on the people in
charge of the prison.”

“Of course, if she kills anyone,
that would sort of put a damper on the whole sense of catharsis.” Alan, who had
stood just outside the door for all her sessions, knew almost as many therapy
words as she did by this point. “You forget, she’s an even more powerful
sorceress than you are.”

“We’ve never actually tested that,”
she said absently, feeling the tension from earlier tightening her shoulders
again. “And if she has something to do, it might relax her enough that she
doesn’t actually lock me in my room herself after this.”

“Hopefully, no one else will get
the idea,” Alan said quietly. “But if they do, we’re going to need to look at
more serious options to protect you. This isn’t just about keeping an eye on
you anymore.”

Elena made herself take a deep
breath as she felt her options slip away from her. “I know, but—”

The world shut off.

When she opened her eyes again she
was on the ground, staring up into Alan’s terrified face. He was cradling her
in his arms, checking for a pulse, and for one disoriented second she wondered
how he’d managed to catch her with that broken leg of his. She hadn’t fainted –
you swooned first, when that happened. You weren’t just snuffed out like a
candle that someone else was done with.

Elena felt herself go ice cold.
“How long was I …” Her throat closed up, unable to finish the word. The curse
wasn’t supposed to work like this – according to everyone who had been there,
her aunt had given the very clear deadline of her 18th birthday – but it had
felt exactly like every nightmare she’d ever had about her non-existent future.

She forced the thought from her
mind as Merrick helped her sit up. “Twenty seconds. Maybe thirty.” His voice
hadn’t quite steadied all the way yet. “You stopped speaking, and your eyes
rolled up in the back of your head. Then you dropped straight to the ground.”

She shook her head, more to deny
the moment than anything he’d said, then made herself stand so she could help
him up. He didn’t accept the offer, watching her face the entire time as he got
to his feet on his own. “We need to tell your mother.”

“No.” Elena focused on her
breathing, forcing it into a slow, steady rhythm. “We can’t even be sure that
was the curse.” Alan’s eyes narrowed, and she held up her hands in
supplication. “Not yet, then. Let me … let me at least find out more about
what’s happening.”

He put his hand back on her
shoulder. “It’s not supposed to work like that, is it?”

“No.” She covered his hand with her
own, giving it a squeeze as a silent thank you. “Another special surprise from
my aunt, I would guess.”

Alan swore softly. “I wish Nigel
had been the worst thing to happen this afternoon.”

Monday, February 12, 2018

I’ve described my relationship with writing as something to close to those “Wuthering Heights”-style romances, where you can’t imagine living without each other but there’s also a 50 percent chance that one of you will be arrested for the other’s murder. I’d never put up with this level of obsessiveness and frustration in any sort of relationship with an actual human, but when it comes to writing I can’t seem to stop myself. The question of whether I actually enjoy writing is as irrelevant as whether I actually enjoy breathing.

What I didn’t realize until recently, however, was the effect that watching my relationship with writing had on my sister. She’s a scientist at heart, but she’s got a wonderful science fiction universe set up where she gets to play with different alien races and the interaction between them. She’s mostly at the planning stages right now, but she’s sent me some snippets and they’re wonderfully entertaining.

For years, however, she was too frozen by anxiety to really explore any of it. She’d seen me write for years, and had come to the conclusion that the only proper way to be a “writer” was to basically throw yourself in it and drown the same way I had. Since she wasn’t willing to devote an immense chunk of her brain to the idea, she decided that she couldn’t write any of it.

When she finally told me all of this, I disabused her of the notion as thoroughly as possible. And if any of you out there feel the same way about some spark of a story kicking around your head, please let me disabuse you of it as well.

Literally the only thing you need to be a writer is an idea and the vague thought that maybe you should write it down. You don’t have to be one of those intense “writer” types that often appear in popular media in order to qualify for the term. It can be a fun thing you do in your spare time, the same way another person might take up knitting (and believe me, there are some intense knitters out there, so pretty much every craft or talent has a sliding scale of obsession).

And yes, there are a lot of “rules” out there for writing, but the truth is that those are mostly important when you’re thinking about having a wide range of people reading your work (or are hoping to get the attention of an editor or publisher). If you’re just writing for yourself, or for your family and friends, you don’t even have to stress about the “rules” all that much. (And even then, a lot of the “rules” end up not being all that true anyway.)

So, if you’ve got a story idea you’d kind of like to write down somewhere, go and do it with my blessing. You don’t have to be crazy to be a writer.

Tuesday, December 26, 2017

"Dreamless" never got a fair shake from the beginning. Released just as Jolly Fish was in its death throes, my poor book was supposed to be released in spring 2016 but didn't actually come out until the fall. There was hardly any publicity for the first release, and the delay (which Jolly Fish's original leadership never told anyone about) killed what little momentum was generated. Discouraged, I stopped my own attempts to generate some publicity for the book. On top of that, the cover was nothing like my other books and didn't actually represent the story inside.

Admittedly, my first chapter also needed some work, and looking back I should have given the whole thing at least one more good hard edit. Still, the book did manage to win an award despite its failings, though that wasn't enough to get its name out there.

Still, both "Dreamless" and I are getting a second chance. Northstar reverted both the print and ebook rights back to me, which means that it's going to not be for sale for a little while I find an awesome new cover and give it the magnificent spit-and-polish the story deserves. Then, with a final tweak to the name - it'll be "Sleepless" now, instead of "Dreamless" - I'll re-release the title as a $5 ebook and make plans for a physical printing depending on demand.

Tuesday, December 12, 2017

I feel like I owe you guys something for the massive radio silence, which is the result of a months-long rewriting/editing session more massive than any I've experienced in my life. Seriously, I went a little bit crazy - it's probably best you didn't have to deal with me. Still, as an apology, here's a teaser for the brand-new version of "Piper's Song" I've been slaving away over:

Chapter 1: A Little Night Music
Having a song in your heart was considerably less cheerful-sounding when rats and fire were involved.

Jess smiled a little to herself at the thought, making a mental note to try and use it in conversation later. She couldn’t say anything at the moment, her breath occupied by the music controlling the rats, but it was good to make note of these things. Especially when it was a decent distraction from her hundredth time through the current song she was playing, a children’s song so simple she could probably play it in her sleep.

To the small, furry listeners behind her, it didn’t matter what song she played. The sound of them was quieter out here, the dirt doing more to muffle their tiny claws than the brick-paved streets back in town, but she had no doubt they were all still following her. The magic inside her surged up through the song, reaching for the rats as sharply and clearly as if she had her own hands stretched out. Her power couldn’t call anything bigger than a small cat – most pipers couldn’t even call something that big – but rats and anything smaller were powerless against it.

(While that sounded great as part of the sales pitch, the swarms of bugs who came along with the rats her first few times on the job had been less than thrilling. She’d eventually learned to concentrate and call only what she wanted, but it had taken some practice.)

To most people, what she could do was a mystery. Pipers never talked about what using their power felt like, because whenever they did someone inevitably pointed out how much piper magic sounded like siren magic. Sirens, who even witches and sorcerers had been so scared of that they’d been hunted to extinction. There were rumors that some had silenced their songs, marrying humans instead of draining their energy, but those weren’t the kind of connections pipers wanted anyone to make.

There’s nothing to be afraid of, little nightingale. It’s a gift, the same way your music is.

An old familiar grief clenched her chest at the memory of her foster mother’s voice. Marie had believed that with her whole heart, but now that she was gone there were very few people Jess could trust to feel the same way. Silence was easier all around.

When she finally arrived at the fire-filled trench on the opposite side of the field, Jess shook herself out of her thoughts and got back to work. She took her first step onto the wooden bridge stretched across it, looking for the small, embedded charm that meant it had been enchanted against fire. The rats pushed against her legs, trying to get closer, while a few got excited enough to stumble into the fire on their own.

“Lady?” The man at the end of the trench asked, coming closer. “Is something wrong? Why aren’t you moving?”

Because the last time I didn’t check for the charm, the bridge collapsed under me and I nearly died. But she couldn’t actually say that, with the pipe in her mouth and the rats ready to escape the second she stopped playing. So she simply kept looking until she found the charm, glinting in the firelight, and she stepped fully onto the bridge and kept walking. She turned around while she was halfway across, sweeping the rats that had made it onto the bridge off the sides and into the fire. They died silently, thankfully, but sometimes she closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at what was happening. It had taken her months to master the rhythm, picking up the basics through careful questions to the older pipers on the circuit, but now that she’d been doing it for a few years she didn’t have to think about it.

When the last rat had finally tumbled over the edge of the bridge, Jess stopped playing. “That should do it,” she told the man, stepping off the bridge completely and flashing her best salesman’s smile. “I’ll stay long enough to make sure the fire goes out completely, so as soon as I get the rest of my payment you can go home and get to bed.”

He hesitated, looking back out into the darkness. He was pale enough to have a desk job someplace, hair thinning and coat far too heavy for the relatively mild weather. “You sure that’s all of them?”

Temper rose up, prompted by pride, but she throttled it back. Keeping her salesman’s smile fixed firmly in place, she held out her hand. “If there’s a rat left in the entire town, I can promise you they’re completely deaf.” Then he shot her a skeptical look, and temper slipped past good sense to get a jab in. “Though if we don’t get this settled soon, I’m sure I can find more somewhere and bring them in.”

He narrowed his eyes at her briefly, and she braced herself for things to blow up into an actual fight. Her golden brown skin was usually close enough to a farmer’s tan for people not to question it, but her black hair was just a little too dark and too straight to completely pass as a local in the more rural parts of the kingdom. Unfortunately, that was also where work was best for people who killed rats for a living, so she’d learned to adapt. She kept her hair short, told people she was a solid three or four years older than her actual 18 summers of living, and knew how to use the knife she kept in her boot.

She’d also learned never to show either hesitation or weakness, so she held the man’s gaze while he came to a decision. Then, after a few beats, he reached into his pocket and handed her an envelope full of money. “I’ll let the mayor know we got everything wrapped up,” he said, turning to leave.

Jess counted the money by the light of the fire, pleased to see it was all there just as promised. “Pleasure doing business with you!” she called out, looking up in time to see him wave a hand vaguely behind him in acknowledgment.

As he walked off into the distance she put her pipe back in its case, tucking the money safely away underneath. “You’ve got to remind me to be less snippy with the clients, T,” she told the empty air around her.

A young man appeared suddenly out of that empty space, his dark hair close-cropped and warm brown skin burnished by the firelight. The mere sight of him was enough to unknot something inside her chest, a fact that she would absolutely have to worry about the moment she let herself start thinking about it.

“Be less snippy with clients,” he said dutifully, lips quirking slightly at the familiar, shared joke. Then his expression turned serious, eyes intense even from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “But you know you don’t always have to check for the fireproofing charm, right? I always look for it before you get here, and if it was missing I promise you there’s no way I’d let you cross that bridge.”

Jess didn’t know what left her feeling suddenly unsteady – the earnestness in his voice, or the fact that she believed him completely. Deciding that neither was a safe topic of conversation, she flashed him a grin to make sure none of it showed up on her face. “Don’t want to put your job at risk by saving my life again?”

It was how they’d met, actually. Sometimes, Jess pictured telling the story to the members of her foster mother’s performing troupe, dramatically acting it out while Thomas rolled his eyes, but then she thought about her foster mother not being there and it hurt too much.

She’d never been good at dealing with pain.

Thomas, thankfully not able to hear her thoughts, widened his smile. “I don’t know. It worked out pretty well for me last time.” He pulled out his pocket-sized magic mirror, handing it to her. “I should probably get to work, but you got a mirror message while you were on your walk. I didn’t read it, but it sounds like someone wants to hire you for a job.”

Jess winced at the reminder, taking the mirror from him as she straightened. “I swear I keep meaning to get a new mirror,” she apologized. “It’s not fair for me to keep using your work mirror for my work messages.”

Thomas shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I like being able to help you when you need it.” The words called up another rush of warmth in Jess’s chest as he reached for the I.D. hanging around his neck, then hesitated. “You want to skip following me around tonight, so you can focus on the message?”

He always asked her that, in one form or another, even though she’d never once taken him up on the offer. “What, and miss your rundown on whatever town it’s from?” Opening the message with one hand, she laid the other hand on his shoulder. If she let go of him, she’d immediately get dumped back into the regular world and Thomas would end up invisible again. “Seriously, if you ever want to quit being a Reaper I’m sure someone would hire you as a tour guide.”

Thomas made a rueful noise. “Only someone who was really interested in hearing an itemized history of the local plant life.” Then he slapped the flat of his hand against the I.D. hanging against his chest, and both the darkness and the fire disappeared in a rush of gray. The only spots of color left in the world were her, Thomas, and the cool blue light of the rats' discarded life energy floating in small clouds within the now-gray flames. Everyone's life energy stuck around like that after they died, according to Thomas, and if everyone left it alone the energy usually disappeared after about a week. Since life energy was an easy power boost for magic users with a more flexible view of ethics, however, hardly anyone left it alone.

Which was where Reapers came in.

Thomas's hand curled like he was holding a staff, murmuring a word that Jess could never quite catch. An instant later, a glowing, translucent scythe made of energy appeared in his hand.
Jess watched him adjust his grip, remembering the explanation he'd given her once as to how the scythe had probably been made. She asked him questions about it sometimes, just to get him talking. "Didn’t you say they were considering skull masks at one point? Why didn’t they ever go through with that?”

Thomas stopped, brow furrowing as he thought. “I think there were copyright issues,” he said finally. “A scythe is a tool that anyone can use, but the lawyers decided that the skull face under the hood was pretty specific to the company’s founder.”

Jess watched him start his work, considering whether or not to prompt him for a longer explanation, carefully swinging the tip of his scythe through each one of those small clouds of blue light. They disappeared in a flash, the energy’s tie to this plane of existence sliced through – yes, Thomas had explained all of this to her, too – leaving it free to move somewhere beyond the reach of evil sorcerers. Technically, Thomas could use it to clean up any kind of energy, but his official assignment was to focus on mice and rats.

Which worked out extremely well for Jess, though she wasn’t about to tell his bosses that.

Still, she should probably focus on her job rather than his. Tearing her attention away from the reaping, she activated the mirror message from the potential client. When the smoke cleared on the pre-recorded message, the sender turned out to be an exhausted middle-aged man with the lingering trace of a farmer’s tan and an expression that suggested he worked out a lot of stress by hitting people in his imagination. “Miss Tremeau, my name is Arthur Perkins. I’m the mayor of Kensford, a bustling, prosperous town that boasts—” He stopped, closing his eyes a moment with a long-suffering look. “But you don’t care about that.”

This wasn’t the “inconvenience” face, the one that said “We tried to take care of this ourselves and are deeply resentful of the fact that it didn’t quite work.” No, Mayor Perkins’ expression shot straight to “please help,” which usually meant a ton of rats had started making a serious dent in the food stores. It meant they wouldn’t haggle much, when it came to her fee, and she could probably squeeze out a bonus or two depending on how quickly she could get the mice and rats taken care of.

“If it’s the Kensford I’m thinking of,” Thomas said absently, his attention still focused on his work. “It’s only about a day’s ride from Hammelin.”

Knowing he wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t important, Jess briefly stilled the mirror message and wracked her brain trying to remember why Hammelin was relevant. “Wait, is that the city you said the witches were talking about? The one where no one’s heard from any of the residents for the last few days?”

Thomas nodded. “None of the witches in the mirror chat group live near Hammelin or have family there, so no one knows exactly what’s going on. But it might be something to keep in mind.”

Jess nodded. From how Thomas always described them, the witches in the group all treated gossip like it was a professional sport. Still, gossip was usually at least 50 percent true, and any piper with a brain in their head stayed away from areas where people were messing around with more serious magic. A day’s ride might be enough breathing room from whatever was (or wasn’t) going on in Hammelin, but there was no way to be sure. “Are they still trying to get you named an honorary witch with that society they all go to?”

Thomas’s sigh was both affectionate and long-suffering as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Yes, and I don’t know why. I mean, I understand they’re probably trying to be nice, but literally the only magic spells I have any control over are the ones management put into my I.D. For that matter, I haven’t even figured out yet how they code the I.D.s to each individual Reaper, and I’ve been poking at it long enough that I definitely should have figured it out by now.”

Jess squeezed his shoulder. “The rest of us don’t care so much about accuracy, T. They probably just want to say thank you for having to listen to all their stories 500 times.”

Thomas shook his head, turning his attention back to the rats’ energy. “If they want to say thank you,” he muttered, “they should send me some of their reference books.”

Jess activated the mirror message again, the frozen image of Mayor Perkins springing back to life. He cleared his throat. “We’ve talked to the leaders of some of the other cities and towns who you’ve done jobs for, and they all say you’re the most thorough piper they’ve ever worked with.” She had just long enough to feel a warm glow of pride before he ruined it by continuing. “We had to research a little more thoroughly than we usually do pipers, since we heard your name in an unusual way. We put up our usual posting for a piper, and a man named Crispin St. Clair responded. His—”

She jammed a finger down to still the mirror message again, alarm shooting through her, as Thomas suddenly stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “Did he just say—”

Jess’s jaw tightened, her self-preservation instincts activating. “Unfortunately, he did.” She hesitated, thumb hovering over the trigger that would delete the message completely. If Crispin had given these people her name, it was absolutely a trap.

This was enough to make Thomas turn around completely, though he moved carefully enough not to dislodge Jess’s hand on his shoulder. “Maybe they decided not to hire him and he was complaining about you. Even if he’s not actively trying to get you fired from jobs anymore, he still thinks it’s your fault that everyone knows what a terrible piper he is.”

“You clean up after a man one time, and he decides you’ve organized a conspiracy against him.” She felt herself leaping at the idea, and she forced herself to stop and actually weigh the possibility. “If that’s the explanation, then I have to do it. It’s rare enough for anyone in government to make the intelligent choice first that I need to encourage them.”

Thomas watched her face for a moment, then his lips quirked. “And next time you run into Crispin, you can rub it in his face?”

Jess’s couldn’t stop the smile that slipped out, even as she gave him her best innocent look. He knew her so well. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Then her expression sobered. “Hammelin’s a day’s ride away, which mean that if there is trouble we’ll at least get some warning. But it probably isn’t anything – witches and sorcerers are showy enough that there’d be reports of explosions or enormous trees, not a communication blackout.”

“And there hasn’t been reports of anything rampaging around the countryside.” Thomas looked down at the mirror. “So if Crispin didn’t mean to give them your name, we’re going to Kensford?”

Jess nodded, then restarted the message. “—reputation is such that nearby towns had already warned us against him, so we rejected his offer even though we were desperate. When we did, he began ranting about how you had somehow arranged the situation by spreading lies about him. Since putting up a general posting had proven so unsuccessful, we decided to research your name in the hopes that it would speed things.”

She stopped the message completely, valiantly resisting the urge to do an impromptu victory dance. “Just think about it this way, T,” she told Thomas. “It sounds like there’s enough rats in Kensford to make your quota for the month.”

“I always make my quota now that I follow you around.” Still, he seemed amused as he returned to the reaping. “Let me finish up here, then we can get a few hours of sleep and set out for Kensford in the morning.”

Jess grinned. “I’m sure the rats will be excited to see us.” Then, slipping the magic mirror into her pocket, she went back to watching Thomas work.

#

One mirror message taking the job and two days hitching rides on various wagons and carts later, they arrived in Kensford. Their first stop was a quiet stable near the edge of town where they could stash their things, and after a quick change – only an idiot traveled in their presentation outfit – they arrived at the Mayor’s Office.

Before they went inside, Thomas lightly touched her arm. “Want me to go invisible?” he asked quietly. “I know they already gave you the job, but that doesn’t mean you want me in the way when you’re dealing with clients.”

The hesitancy in his voice made her turn enough to look at him. His shoulders were hunched slightly, just like they always did whenever he apologized for explaining something too thoroughly or talking too much in general. Every time she saw it, Jess gave serious thought to tracking down the people who ran the Abernathy Home for Orphans and punching them in the face.

Instead, she grinned at him, patting his cheek. “Not a chance, my friend. Today, I’m going to show you how to make an entrance.”

She could see a flicker of surprise chase its way across his face, making her annoyed at his former guardians all over again. Then, slowly, his lips curved upward a little. “How about I just watch you make the entrance and take notes for later?”

Jess sighed dramatically, the same way she always did at this point in whatever variation of the familiar, shared joke came up. “One day I’ll teach you the joy of the spotlight, T.”

His smile widened as he came back with the same response he always did. “But that day is not today.”

They announced themselves to the woman behind the front desk, who ushered them with gratifying speed back to Mayor Perkins’ office. He wasn’t alone, as it turned out, a sour-faced man with a beautifully tailored suit and a face like a lump of wheat bread dough glowering in the corner. He started speaking the moment they were announced, cutting the woman off before she’d even reached the end of her sentence. “Not so fast, Miss Tremeau. The rest of the council chose to hire you while I was out of town on business, and though they’re all clearly prone to panic I’m not about to let myself get conned the same way they have.”

Jess bristled at the word “conned” while Mayor Perkins sighed, looking like a man in urgent need of a nap. “Edward, the people are desper—”

“The people need to learn some self-sufficiency,” the man – Edward, apparently – snapped. “Now, Miss Tremeau. I know the previous cities you’ve worked with have spoken well of you, but I’m sure there are other, more experienced pipers out there who have reputations that are just as good or better. I’m sure the council will agree that we can just send you on your way while we—”

“Edward, we had more than enough votes for the decision to be—”

Clearly, Jess needed to take control of the situation, and if she could make Eddie over there regret his whole life that would be a delightful bonus. She glanced over at Thomas, wondering if he was going to try and be the voice of reason. Instead, he was busy glaring daggers at Eddie, intense enough in his dislike that he didn’t even notice Jess looking.

Well, that was a go-ahead if she’d ever seen one.

Pulling out her pipe while the mayor and Eddie were busy arguing, she hefted her power up into her throat and started into a simple children’s song. By the time she’d gotten three notes in she could hear the click of rat claws in the corridor outside, and she smirked to herself as she walked over to stand at Eddie’s side.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, girl, but—”

Before he could finish the thought, four rats surged into the office. Jess stepped slightly behind the council member, and though he stepped away quickly he was still between her and the rats. They went straight up his legs, prepared to go over whatever or whoever they had to in order to get to the music.

The esteemed council member’s shriek was louder than the music.

That was Jess’s cue to stop playing, which caused the now-released rats to scatter. Eddie straightened his suit, shaking with offended dignity, and Jess shot him her best salesman’s smile. “It seems like you have a rat problem, Eddie. Are you sure you really want to wait?”

He lifted his chin, turning to the mayor. “Fine. I won’t argue anymore,” he snapped, then turned and stalked out of the room as if it had offended him personally. As he left, Thomas grinned and mouthed “nice job” at her.

Jess grinned back, a warm glow in her chest as she turned to the mayor. “So, shall we?”

Things wrapped fairly quickly after that, with Mayor Perkins agreeing to a healthy fee that wasn’t quite large enough to make her conscience start providing annoying commentary. He insisted she do the walk that evening in exchange, and Jess sighed like she was making a serious concession instead of getting exactly what she wanted.

By the time the walk actually started, Jess was still riding high on that wave of confidence. A nice crowd had gathered, watching her with an eagerness that meant no one bothered giving her funny looks or questioning her credentials. She even got a round of applause as the music started, which was always good for the ego.

Her pleasure at the attention lasted about half a block, when she realized that only one or two rats had started to follow her. She’d always called more rats by this point, especially in cities with as many as Kensford seemed to have, and it wouldn’t be long before the people lining the streets starting figuring that out. She could feel the power in her throat, pushing upward through the song, but she dug deep inside her chest for more. The notes thinned out a little as she concentrated on the power, pushing it upward and out into the music with an effort that left her fumbling to get her breath back while never letting the song falter.

Only a few steps later, though, the rats started coming. A lot of rats, from the sound of it, pushing at her ankles with far more eagerness than she usually got out of the rodents she called. It made sense, really – she’d called up too much power, and the poor things had overdosed on the magic that pulled them along. She shook them off as she walked, concentrating on getting to the end.

More rats came. They were loud enough now to be heard over the music, but all that meant was that she was doing her job properly. All she had to do was hold them long enough to get to the field, then make sure they ended up in the trench. A simple job, one she’d done a thousand times before.

She kept repeating the thought as the audience thinned, eventually disappearing completely and leaving her alone with the rats along the empty streets. No witches or sorceresses jumped out at her from the shadows, and none of the rats started growling or transforming into some kind of monster. She could see the glow from the trench fire in the distance, and the rats were still moving along behind her like an obedient little army. She was fine.

Jess shook her head again, not sure why she was even thinking like this. There was clearly nothing to worry—

The thought cut off as Thomas suddenly appeared in the middle of the empty field, hurrying toward her at a dead run.

Sunday, August 27, 2017

So, I'm in the process of writing Thea and Max's next e-book adventure, and this little missing scene from "How to Win Over Your Arch-Nemesis" suddenly hits me. It fits in after the case gets solved and before the very last scene.

A part of me wants to edit the book to include it - a lovely thing about self-publishing e-titles is that I can do that without too much trouble - but a part of me thinks it would ruin the flow of the story as it stands. Let me know what you think in the comments, and either way you can consider this officially canon. (Though the rating is ever so slightly higher than my fairytale stuff, just FYI.)

***

Clubs in Monte Carlo were the same as clubs anywhere else, just more expensive. Max stayed by the bar, cola in a glass normally meant for rum and cola, and his eyes were only for a leggy blonde who was making come-hither eyes at him.

To be fair, he was making those exact same eyes at her. Marissa St. Claire was the reason he was in the club in the first place, a high society girl currently in possession of three vials of a brand-new designer drug that had the unfortunate habit of killing more than half the people who tried it. Really, she should be grateful he was taking them off her hands.

He couldn't exactly ask for them, however, so he was here promising things with his eyes. It wasn't long before she cocked a finger at him, and he abandoned his drink instantly and moved through the crowd to her side.

The song changed to something slower, with a beat designed for sex, and it would have seemed like fate if he hadn't slipped the DJ a bribe the moment he'd gotten here. Max took full advantage of it, moving his and Marissa's bodies together in just the right rhythm to make her think of being tangled together naked in the sheets. Normally, that would be where this was leading, and he'd make off with the vials and slip away after he'd worn her out.

Out there on the dance floor, he considered letting it end up there again. It wouldn't take much - they were practically having sex right here on the dance floor, and if anything the challenge would be making sure she kept her clothes on long enough to get to the room. Though there was always round two....

Then he blinked, surprised for a split second to see sun-bleached waves in front of his eyes instead of the sensible ponytail he'd been... expecting? Imagining?

Either way, it was like a bucket of cold water. His hand skimmed over the curve of her breast only long enough to slip her hotel room key out from where it was tucked into her bra. Then he kissed her neck and shouted that he was getting another drink, slipping away while she pouted in disappointment.

000

"You didn't sleep with her." D's voice in his ear was flat with disbelief. "She was attracted to you enough that you got her room key, and you didn't seal the deal?"

"I don't sleep with everyone," he muttered under his breath, regretting putting the earbud back in his ear. He shut the hotel suite door behind him, dropping the key in just the right place to look like it had fallen out when Marissa originally left the room. "You make me sound like Bond."

"If anything, you sleep with more people than he does," D shot back. "Not that there's anything wrong with that - seduction is a well-established tool of espionage."

"But there are other tools." He started for the safe, then stopped and went for her suitcase instead. "A good spy should use all of them."

There was a moment of blissful silence from D's end, which she promptly went and ruined. "It's that programmer from Chicago, isn't it?"

Max's chest constricted suddenly, making him hesitate. "Thea has nothing to do with this."

D made an exasperated noise. "You changed your codename for her. I told myself that was just because you hated the letter you were assigned, but you haven't seriously looked at another potential bedpartner in weeks."

Spies weren't supposed to miss people, especially women you'd known less than 24 hours. It was practically written into the job requirements, right next to the ability to lie.

But more than once, he'd caught himself wanting to tell her something and wondering what she'd say. Worse, even the smallest reminder of her was enough to chase any other woman right out of his head.

"Did you take your earbud out again?" D snapped suddenly. "Oh, I loathe it when he does that."

"It's still in," Max said quickly, hoping to forestall the rant. He found the vials, wrapped in lingerie, and he took them out and slipped them inside the jacket pocket of the hotel staff uniform he'd "borrowed." "I'm just having a hell of a time denying it."

There was a moment of silence from D's end, then a long sigh. "I've known you for years," she said finally, voice oddly gentle. "And I had no idea you were a romantic."

"How could you?" He slipped out of the suite, shutting the door behind him. "I didn't know."

"Well." She cleared her throat, some of its usual briskness returning. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Practice pick-pocketing," he said under his breath, grabbing an empty food cart from in front of another suite and wheeling it in front of him as he headed for the elevator. "Try to get you to never bring this up again."

D made a dismissive noise. "That's not the spy I know. If you want to see this Thea of yours again, you're going to have to figure out how to make it happen."

Max's fingers tightened on the handles of the cart, chest constricting again. "I didn't know that was an option."

"Darling." D's tone was affectionately chiding. "Since when have you listened to anyone who said you couldn't do something?"

Max stepped into the elevator, doors closing in front of him. Slowly, he started to smile.

Thursday, July 13, 2017

It was an obvious choice for my favorite Disney movie growing up, since I had brown hair and a serious reading habit. I, too, was the girl with the “dreamy far off look” and “my nose stuck in a book,” and if I ever starred in a musical there would absolutely have to be a song where everyone talked about how weird they thought I was. I was also insanely curious, and just like Belle would have immediately investigated the creepy, shut-up part of the house I had been forbidden from going anywhere near.

I identified with the Beast just a much. No, I wasn’t extremely tall and furry, but I was angry and brooding and almost completely lacking in social skills. It was hard to see him as a monster when I could sympathize so completely with him, and it wasn’t like Belle needed the defense – when he roared at her, she yelled right back at him. And he was so eager to learn how to be a nicer person, even though he stumbled sometimes.

The only part of the movie that really tripped me up was the end. As much as I loved the Beast, I had zero interested in the human he turned into at the very end. I didn’t see anything that connected him with the guy I loved – he had a pretty face, and a soft voice, and he was never onscreen long enough for us to see any sign of the anger and awkwardness that had been so much a part of the Beast. Even though he’d been working hard to become a better person, things like that don’t just disappear the moment you get a makeover.

A lot of people see the transformation as the entire point of “Beauty and the Beast.” For them, the moral of the story is that love “fixed” the Beast, making him the metaphorical handsome prince instead of the supposedly scary monster. In its more dangerous aspect, it’s the idea that a good woman is enough to “save” a man (“Fifty Shades of Grey” is really just “Beauty and the Beast” in its most annoying form).

For me, however, I wish the transformation never happened. Or if it did, that the movie made it clear we were getting the same angry, awkward man in a slightly different body. The change that mattered had already happened, the slow transformation of an isolated man into someone who cares enough about others to put their needs before his own. That was the man Belle had already fallen in love with, the man that the weird, awkward dreamer inside her had recognized and responded to. She had been just as alone as he was, surrounded by people who couldn’t see past how different she was.

They were both beasts, in their own way, just like they were both beautiful where it mattered. What they looked like didn’t matter – the fact that they had found each other at all was the real happy ending.